Razor Blade
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Leia tries to bear the burden of Alderaan's survivor's; Han tries to make it better. Rated for references to suicide and depression.


_a/n: honestly, I've had this prompt note of "H/L - shaving" on my phone for months. i think it was intended to be flirty and fun. but I've done too much smut lately - and i went with this, instead._

 _*themes of suicide and depression (NOT a suicidal Leia)_

* * *

 _ **Razor Blade**_

* * *

The door of their en suite bathroom was open slightly, and Han stood outside of it at an angle, his head tilted. He was able to see a sliver of the mirror through the crack of the door and reflected in the mirror, he could see Leia.

He listened to water slosh around as she moved slightly, her foot braced up on the faucet of the 'fresher. She tapped her knee with her fingers, and he watched her roll her head and stretch her shoulders tiredly. Black make-up was smudged around her eyes, subtle lipstick smears made the lines of her mouth blurry, and Han silently tried to gauge her mood before he entered.

Unable to, he pushed the door open, pressing it back to the wall with his palm.

Leia looked over at him, her head resting against the 'fresher wall. She said nothing; she only sighed heavily, closed her eyes, and shook her head a little.

Han took his hand off the door and let it inch away from the wall lazily, striding into the bathroom. He placed her towel on the sink and sat down where it had been folded on top of the sani lid, leaning forward on his knees.

"Bad day?" he asked.

Leia's eyes remained closed for a long moment, and finally, she opened them, staring at him.

"No," she answered finally, with an air of surprise. "That's just it, isn't it? My day was fine."

She sounded as if she was talking to herself, and Han's lips twitched up a little, a small, crooked smile.

"You can tell _me_ if it wasn't fine," he coaxed. He gestured to himself. "It's _me_!"

Leia smiled softly.

"It was fine," she insisted, quiet, sincere. "I feel," she began, furrowing her brow thoughtfully. Her shoulders sank. "I feel awful," she confessed.

Han interlocked his fingers, leaning down on his knees. He looked around the bathroom for a moment and then nodded, jutting his index finger out to point at the lavish bubbles in her bath.

"Yeah," he agreed, matter-of-factly, "this is your I-feel-awful soap."

"It's bubble bath."

"It's soap."

Leia smiled a little. She rolled her head to the other side and stared ahead at her foot, wriggling her toes. She swallowed hard, lifting her shoulders up in a helpless shrug.

She fumbled around on the ledge of the bath and picked up a slim violet razor, peering at it dully. She lifted her chin and looked at Han.

"Will you hand me the shaving lotion in the cabinet?" she asked, nodding her head at the cabinet mounted on the wall behind him.

He turned, reaching up and retrieving it – he removed the cap and handed it to her, taking a brief moment to look inside at the fluffy, silvery concoction she used. It had an earthy scent – she said it was blended with some kind of moisturizing clay – and he knew it was expensive, because it was one of those things that he'd been surprised to find she was partial to, after the war.

She had been so unconcerned about the dirt and grime and lack of luxury during the Rebellion that he still sometimes was taken aback when she did something, said something, or purchased something that screamed – _princess_!

He watched her smooth the lotion over her leg in a thick sheath, paying careful attention to her knee, the razor balanced loosely between the knuckles of two fingers.

"You want dinner?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I'm not hungry."

"Whiskey, wine…?"

Again, the shake of her head.

"I really don't think I should drink when I feel like this," she murmured.

"You're a smarter woman than most," Han said dryly. He turned towards her a little, watching as she lifted her other leg out of the water and smoothed lotion over it as well, her heels perched on the edge of the tub. "You sure nothing happened at work?"

Leia sighed almost harshly, frustrated.

"It was a good day – any _sane_ person would call it a good day," she amended acerbically.

"You're sane," Han said simply.

Leia gave a quiet, derisive laugh, and then paused, pressing her palm into her calf for a moment.

"So," Han prompted patiently. "Was there somethin' about it an _in_ sane person wouldn't like?"

Delighted suddenly by how seriously he humored her, Leia grinned, leaning back away from her legs and looking at him over her raised knees, shaking her head.

"You're making it better," she told him, her voice a low whisper, as if too much volume would startle the flicker of relief that his good nature and his comforting presence stoked.

Han smirked charmingly.

Leia swirled her hand in the water, rinsing it of lotion, and then pushed her fingers through her loosely braided hair, getting it out of her face. She bit her lower lip, holding up her razor.

"I've been trying to find the energy to just shave my damn legs," she said quietly, "but all I've been doing is staring at the blade."

Han bit back any expression or response, ordering himself not to react – with apprehension, or anger, or anything else that slightly terrifying comment evoked – _Leia, if I hadn't come home, then what?_ – _Leia, should you go see someone about this_ – ?

He got up from the sani and moved to sit on the edge of the tub, slinging one leg over – boots, trousers, and all – and placing it in the soapy water with her. She gave him a bemused look, and he put out his palm, beckoning for the razor.

"I'll do this," he muttered calmly.

Leia clicked her tongue.

"You don't know how," she murmured.

Han arched his brows and gestured to his jaw pointedly – he shaved every morning, like clockwork, and she ought to know; she was quick to give him a judgmental side-eye if he didn't. There were a lot of things about a scoundrel Leia Organa enjoyed – but any hint of a beard was not one of them.

She lifted her chin primly.

"Well, be careful at the knee," she warned.

Han leaned back lazily and started at her ankle, if only because he'd seen her shave before, quickly, and she usually started at the knee, drew up to her mid-thigh, then returned to the ankle to finish up at the knee.

He started pulling in smooth, gently strokes from right around her shin, down to her ankle, concentrating on the motions. Leia's shoulders relaxed and she let her head fall to the side, closing her eyes.

"It's a crushing feeling," she said, to him – or to no one in particular, maybe she was saying it just to say it out loud. "Everything around me feels dark, even though the lights are on. Or – I'm suffocating, even though I'm breathing."

Han nodded to show he was listening, glancing up at her just a moment. She touched her forehead, and then slid her hand to her stomach, her wrists disappearing under the soap bubbles.

He ran his hand over her shin, working the spare lotion into her skin, checking for places he'd missed and touching them up. He reached for her other leg, pulling it into his lap and doing the same – mid-shin to her ankle, all the way around.

"It flares _up_ , so, so – intermittently, out of _nowhere_ ," she murmured. "I'm fine most of the time. But when I feel like this," she took a deep breath, opening her eyes, "I can't remember feeling _good_."

Han swirled the razor in the water to clean it and leaned up, taking a break for a moment. He stroked his fingers up and down her leg for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

"Alderaan?" he asked.

She nodded hastily, pressing her eyes closed even tighter.

"You know, I was so sure I had started to cope," she whispered hoarsely. "There's something about – building a new world order, a New Republic," she choked, "that just – breaks my heart."

She turned her head, opening her eyes and gasping sharply. She reached up to wipe at her eyes and rubbed her fingertips together, examining the black mascara that ran over her nails.

"It's like burying Alderaan forever," she lamented. "It's not fighting for vengeance or retribution anymore, it's only – it's just – moving on without it," she explained. "It's codifying _this_ reality."

She let out a heavy breath.

"Reality without Alderaan."

She put her hands to her face.

"I miss it."

"I know, Sweetheart."

"I want it back. I want _all_ of it back."

"I know," Han said again, quietly.

He shifted forward a little, so he could lean over at the waist and finish the rest of his task. He placed the razor lightly mid-thigh, pulled it down to her knee gently and was – as she instructed – very diligent with the curve of the bone there, careful not to cut her.

He drew his palm after every stroke, checking for missed places, massaging her skin.

Leia pushed her hands over her hair and then rested them back in the water, placing her palms on her thighs and watching him.

" _Hmmm_ ," she sighed huskily. "That feels good."

Han grinned. He squeezed her knee a little, and she ran her palm over his finished work, inspecting. She nodded – smooth, sleek skin, and not a nick to speak of; she should have known he'd have the skill.

She pulled her hand back to her navel, splashing some bubbles at Han silently, and drew one of her legs back into the water, angling it a little, and pressing her knee against the side of the tub.

"What're you doing under those bubbles, Princess?" Han asked, his eyes following her hand as best he could through the water and soap.

Leia smiled a little faintly.

Han leaned back against the opposite wall, and Leia bit her lip, struck with the urge to laugh – he looked so absurd, suddenly, with one fully clothed leg stuck in the water to balance himself, relaxed and lazy and twirling her feminine razor along his fingers.

"I think I like letting you do that," she decided, nudging his leg with hers.

"You think?"

A blush touched her nose and cheeks.

"It's erotic."

Han set the razor aside on the sink and leaned forward, bracing himself on his forearms and balancing on the edge of the tub. Leia turned her head towards him and he took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself.

"Leia, do you think about hurting yourself?" he asked, still edgy over the razor comment – _but all I've been doing is staring at the blade._

She blinked at him thoughtfully – she didn't look defensive, and she didn't look angry, she was just silent at the question, and then, she very slowly shook her head, lifting one shoulder simply.

"No."

His brows went up – but he wasn't skeptical, because she sounded firm, and she made eye contact – and he she had a tell; he knew when she was lying, anyway.

Leia gave him a wry look.

"I'm already in pain," she quipped dryly.

Han gave her a suffering smile; equal parts fascinated and saddened by her strength.

"You need to tell me if I can't leave you alone with a razor," he said, so quietly she barely heard him – but though it was difficult to make out the words, the fear, and the _worry_ , was loud and clear, and she shook her head again.

"I was only wondering why I don't feel their despair like that."

Han furrowed his brow, rising up a little. He sat up with his shoulders pulled forward, and tilted his head.

"My Alderaanians," she clarified softly. "The ones who kill themselves. What are their last thoughts, before they do it? What's the thing that makes it impossible for them to overcome?" she paused, bit her lip, "—is there anything I can do to save them?"

Han's jaw tightened sympathetically.

"I doubt it's the same for all of 'em," he said gruffly.

She nodded in silent agreement, but looked at him with wide, desperate eyes.

"But I can feel so awful, like I do right now, and still feel no desire to kill myself," she said hoarsely. "I still want to see what happens. What we've won. Even though it hurts so much."

Han shrugged.

"You're strong, Leia," he said. "You've always been strong."

She sat forward; bubbles shifting, water swirling and splashing, and she drew her knees up, shaking her head earnestly.

"Han, the ones who kill themselves aren't _weak_ ," she said fiercely, an almost maternal instinct flaring in her. "They're sad, they're in _despair_. They need something they're not getting." She held her hands to her chest tightly. "I'm falling short. I'm not saving them."

Leia's face fell, and her lips trembled.

"I was staring at that razor blade _because_ I've never wanted to die," she cried softly, "even when Vader was torturing me, even when I had lost – _everything._ I can't relate to the feeling – I'm not – I was trying to _understand_ , because nothing I do is cutting down the suicide rate and I want – I want to save them. I owe them."

Han's chest felt tight. He had no idea what to say to that – he couldn't even begin to advise her, or to empathize with what it was like to not only be the leader of a planet, but of a displaced people who were aching with the loss of their entire civilization.

He moved forward and reached for her head, pulling it forward to his chest. She let out a breath and rested her cheek against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around herself with a little shiver at being half-out of the water.

"Leia," he said, after a long silence. "I think its just…people are different," he said bluntly. "It's not about _you_. It can't be. I've seen Alderaanians around you. They love you," he kissed her temple. " _I_ love you."

She loosened her arms and reached up to clutch at his elbows, holding on.

"Every time I lose one of them it's like an indictment of my inability to lead."

Han grit his teeth tensely.

"It's not you," he repeated – and he really believed that. It was like she said they were just – they were in despair, utter despair – half of them were people who had merely been on _vacation_ when the Disaster happened, Alderaan was their only life, purely _all they had_ – the ones who had moved off world to live and work were doing better, in the long run –

"Alderaan wasn't your fault, Leia. Neither is this stuff."

"I feel like it's my fault," she sobbed.

"It's not."

" _I feel like it is!"_

Han nodded.

"It's not," he simply repeated again.

He ran his fingers through her hair loosely.

"You just can't save some people," he said grimly.

To that, she nodded, and after holding onto his arms for a moment longer, she leaned back, wiping at her face, wrapping her arms around her knees in the lukewarm water. He sat up a little more, bracing his palms on his thighs, tapping his boot a little in the water.

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and groaned.

"Ahhh," she breathed out, frustrated, and sucking in her breath to control her tears. She tilted her head back and blinked at the ceiling. "I'll feel better tomorrow," she whispered – a reminder to herself, a promise.

Han nodded.

"I bet you save more of 'em than you think, Sweetheart," he said gruffly, giving her an encouraging look. "I bet there's Alderaanians out there who made it because of you."

She smiled, shrugged a little.

"I hope so," she said softly. She sat back into the bubble bath.

Han leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and then lifted his brows.

"Better?"

She smiled faintly, nodding.

"Better," she agreed softly, running a hand over her leg. "Nicely done," she murmured.

He grinned.

"Will you eat dinner now?" he asked.

"Mm. Okay," she agreed.

He stood up abruptly, and took his leg out of the bath. He stood first on the towel on the floor, and then took a step towards the door – and realized his mistake as soon as his soap-covered boot hit the tile – the traction failed him completely.

Leia sat forward and let out a shriek as he fell, lunging forward and hanging over the edge of the tub. She managed to place her hands just in the right place, so when he reached behind him to break as much of his fall as he could, the back of his head smacked into the cradle of her palms instead of against the side of the tub.

The worst of it, then, impacted his tailbone – and his pride, as he slumped down and stared up at her dizzily, unable to believe he had – _entirely_ literally – slipped and fallen on his ass.

She leaned over to look at him, water dripping down onto his face, and he saw her fighting back laughter –

"Are you – are – are you – okay –?"

"It's okay, Your Worship, just laugh," he said dryly.

She bowed her head and started giggling apologetically, hiding her face as best she could.

"You make it better," she gasped into his ear, lacing her fingers through his hair and kissing the side of his head.

Han reached out to touch her wrist, sheepish. He sat up a little, reaching down to rub his lower back – and thinking, if it meant anything at all to her, she'd certainly saved his life the day she came into it.

* * *

 _were you expecting it to end like that? :)_

 _back in one chapter of Identity, someone jumped my case and said Leia's "opinions" of suicide were offensive. which was a misreading of my fic, because i, personally, do not write Leia as suicidal. she's not insensitive to it, she just doesn't want to kill herself. anyway - this isn't an Identity story, it's just a story about the struggle of Alderaan's survivors, but I just want to make it clear that the point here is not "suicide is stupid and weak" it's that "everyone deals with tragedy differently and not everyone who is depressed is suicidal."_

 _-alexandra_

 _story #335_


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